


Solace

by sbrant



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27241774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sbrant/pseuds/sbrant
Summary: Bill comforts Y/N.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Reader
Kudos: 8





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I know I don't write nearly as much as I used to, but I wanted to write something very soft and fluffy about being comforted. Everything in the world currently is so stressful, and I feel that we all would appreciate some comfort. Remember to vote! Let me know if you enjoyed this :)

The glass is fogged with enough steam to shield the rest of the bathroom from view, like the frost that builds on car windows after a night of snow. But neither of them can bring themselves to care about how long they've been here. They're preoccupied with each other.

It would be an understatement to say that Y/N has felt in over her head lately. Everyone experiences the stress of feeling their own life and mind slip out of their control, but it was worse than usual this time, especially considering that Bill was out of town for a week.

In every sense of the word, Bill is a comfort to her. She tries to hide this as much as she can and not become co-dependent, it wouldn't healthy, but he'd have to be blind to not notice.

It goes both ways, he has always clung to her for support too. But, for Y/N, when things get rough, it gets ten times worse. It's not like she couldn't cope without him home, she spent far too many years without him to not know how to pull herself through the rough days. Except, he helps. Since she's gotten used to having him there, being without him was hard.

It made her feel pathetic. In fact, it was too embarrassing for her to admit at first. It was just a lousy week, no one is that clingy, right? For them, a week apart felt like a month. As dramatic as it may be, it's the truth.

It's been one and a half years since they first began dating and they have yet to leave behind characteristics of the honeymoon phase. Part of her wonders if they ever will, or if this is how they'll be forever. That's not to say they're still in the honeymoon phase, plenty of quarrels here or there would beg to differ, but they're just as affectionate as they were one and a half years ago.

The water spraying from the showerhead hits the tile with a satisfying pitter-patter rhythm that she finds herself getting lost in. The only thing that manages to bring her out of her trance is the presence of the man beside her. His fingertips, feathery-light on her skin, brush her wet hair aside to drape it over her shoulder.

Her eyes flutter shut when he leans forward to press a kiss to the back of her neck. His arms are wrapped around her waist, one hand gripping her hip while the other traces soothing circles in the water droplets collecting beneath her navel. All she can focus on is how he touches her, how soft his lips feel, and the emotional depth of the moment that knocks her off of her feet.

The thing is, this isn't a big moment. It isn't dramatic or explosive, it's soft and quiet. But she wanted to cry as soon as he guided her here, knowing she missed him desperately, and held her. She never knew such tender, whispery moments could feel so loud.

Bill knew something was wrong as soon as he came home. As soon as they started interacting after he set his things down in the living room, he could tell she wasn't feeling well. It wasn't a crisis-level sadness, but enough to notice the difference in her behavior. Her hair had been neglected for a while, every word she said felt deflated and tired, and he could see the weight of the sadness pushing her shoulders down.

The relief Y/N felt when he wrapped her in his arms and whispered words of reassurance in her ear was immeasurable. And there's something intoxicating to her about being completely naked in front of someone without it having to be sexual.

Nothing about this is sexual, even when their hands accidentally drift too far or brush up against each other. He didn't let her do anything on her own and it made her want to tease him for it, but she was too busy wanting to cry in appreciation. He helped her undress and wash her hair. It felt like one of the sweetest things anyone has done for her; tilting her sudsy head of hair back into the gentle stream of water until the evidence of her sadness washed away.

Her lips curl into a soft smile when he pulls back from the kiss only to return, as if pulled by gravity, to leave another. She hopes she remembers these small moments when they're older. In the back of her mind, a siren flares at that phrase.

 _When we're older_ , Y/N echos again, _I didn't know I expected him to grow old with me_.

That's not to say she doesn't have faith in their relationship. If there's anything she has faith in, it's him. But not only is she a realist, she's a realist who's experienced heartbreak before and knows you never see it coming. Is one and a half years long enough to expect loving someone until old age? She has no clue.

"You f-f-feeling better?"

His words snap her out of it, but she doesn't make it obvious. Or so she thinks. By now, she should know that he notices most things and they've grown close enough to develop a sensitivity to each other's tells. He can always tell when she's lost in her head.

Bill nudges the back of her neck with his nose, another chaste kiss left behind with a sound that is lost beneath the water's pitter-patter.

If she stays in her head too long, the sadness gets worse and kisses always bring her out, among other things. He knows that using sex as a coping mechanism isn't healthy if it's your _only_ coping mechanism, but it isn't their only one and sometimes it's all they can do to distract themselves. Sometimes, she's just begging her mind to shut the fuck up for once and that's the easiest solution; easy, yet impermanent.

That's not what they do tonight, however. This is one of the nights where all she needs is to be held through the worst of it. All she needs is for him to stay with her, nothing more.

"Yeah, I feel a little better now," she says softly, running her hand down the length of the strong arm wrapped around her, "Thanks to you."

His hands recede from where they were placed, which makes her breath catch in her throat, but it was to turn her around to face him. He isn't leaving anytime soon, there's no need to fret.

The sight of him makes her release that hitched breath immediately. His eyes are glassy too, face red—but that can be attributed to the downright scalding temperature of the water pouring over them. Seeing her upset affects him more than she ever remembers to expect. This time, she's the one reaching to comfort him and he melts under her touch, but shakes his head.

 _I'm okay_ , the gesture offers, _I'm supposed to be comforting you, not the other way around._

Bill sniffles quietly and looks down at her with a bittersweet smile. His hands are cradling her face, wet thumbs brushing the tear tracks from her cheeks, and he's smiling. It's one of those sad, but somehow happy smiles. Only he could smile with tears in his eyes and pull it off.

"I d-d-d-didn't do much."

He tends to downplay his role in helping her when this happens and tries to shift the focus back onto her when she thanks him.

"You're here, you got me out of bed..." Y/N shrugs, their noses brushing, "That's a lot to me."

One of the thumbs caressing her cheek drifts and ghosts over the swell of her lips, as if daring her to press a kiss to the tip of it. She accepts, of course, and his barely-there smile grows in response. It's a small moment, minuscule in the grand scheme of things, that knocks him off his feet. After years of starving for affection from anywhere he could get it, intimate displays of affection like this never fail to surprise him. These are the moments where it resonates that she loves him.

The steam fogging up the glass door to the shower distracts him, though. It calls to his attention how long they've been standing, all clean, under the spray of the shower-head. His fingertips are pruned, another sign of how easily they lost track of time, and he supposes they should get out soon. Perhaps he'll make her a cup of tea after they change into warm clothes and they can spend the day doing nothing. He'd be content with laying in bed with her cuddled up beside him until tomorrow, talking and watching whatever is on TV.

After one last kiss, this time on the lips, Bill whispers a short, familiar sentence in her ear and shuts the water off.


End file.
